Ragdoll
by Demented Vampiric Zombie
Summary: The story of Neville's first "detention" during his seventh year, and its aftermath.   Two-shot.   Rated because I'm paranoid.


**A/N**

**I wrote this about two years ago, and I never got around to typing it up. It's a part of a very long series of short stories, many of which are mean to be read in pairs or triplets. This story and the two that go with it are all two-shots.**

**I probably never would have gotten around to typing any of these up if I hadn't gone to the midnight premiere of DH2, last night. It's _so good._ But I will stop talking about that right now before I accidentally give away any spoilers, which would be pretty easy considering that—*cuts self off* Sorry! I almost gave something away, there.  
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><p>I wasn't even sure what it was that I did to make them this angry. The one time I'd made the mistake of asking, they cursed me and screamed that I already knew. Whatever it was, I hope I'll figure it out soon, so I know what it was that I will never do again.<p>

Is this really supposed to be detention? Not even Filch thinks Cruciatus is a fit punishment for children. Of course, I'm seventeen, now, so I'm not exactly a child, anymore. Hopefully, they wouldn't do this to anyone who isn't of age.

Cruciatus, again. The instant it hits me, I _know_ I'm going to end up in St. Mungo's. This agony is sure to drive me mad. I'm going to end up like my parents before I get out of here…it hurts so much that I'm almost hoping for it.

The agony finally fades, and I hear the woman (Carrow? Something like that…) laughing. The sound makes my stomach churn. I barely manage not to vomit, knowing that it will only make it worse if I do.

They seem to be planning. Makes sense, as this is bound to be their first "detention," since we just got off the train less than thirty minutes ago. The feast hadn't even begun when they pulled me away from the crowd and told me that I deserved to be punished.

I try to listen to what they're saying, but I'm too dazed to hear entire sentences. I hear Snape say the word "enough." I hope they're trying to decide whether or not I've learned my lesson, because whatever the lesson is, it's been learned. It's been learned very well.

Carrow reaches into her pocket, but I can't see what she pulls out; the dungeon is dark, only lit by a single torch, and my eyes are still blurry from the pain of the curses. Suddenly, the thing in her hand catches the torchlight and flashes its reflection. It's a knife.

My breath hitches; the fear I suddenly feel is very different from the fear of pain. My brain goes fuzzy.

I feel her jerking up my right arm so hard that I'm surprised that it isn't dislocated, feel the knife slash my hand and cry out in pain and fear. I notice my throat is raw; I hadn't even realized I'd been screaming.

They're talking, again; I hear something about first-years. I try to resist the bile rising in my throat and hope they aren't actually saying what I think they are. When I hear him say, "He _is_ a pureblood," my fears are realized. They _do_ plan to do this to eleven year-olds; not only that, but they're going easy on me because of my heritage.

At that thought, I can't hold it back anymore; vomit spews all over the floor in front of me. At this point, I pretty much accept that I'm not getting out of this room alive. I stop begging and stop apologizing. I give up the fight, and pretend I'm a ragdoll; I can't speak, and I can only move when they make me.

They're screaming at me for being sick. I'm just thankful that it didn't get on either one of them. Maybe they won't be angry enough to take all night.

Another Cruciatus, this one far worse than any I've endured, thus far. I _know_ this is going to be the one to break my sanity.

But, no, that would be too merciful. When the pain fades, I am on the floor. The curse must have caused me to throw myself out of the chair, writhing.

"Get up!" Snape hisses. He doesn't yell, but doing so could not have made him any more intimidating. Somewhere in my mind, I register the fact that I am able to focus on the things around me. Without the burden of survival, my thoughts are far clearer.

I rush to obey, nearly tripping and falling, again, in my haste to get back into the chair.

"I bet the other two are reacting better," Carrow says. "The Weasley girl seemed like a fighter."

My head snaps up. Ginny is being tortured, too? More vomit rises in my throat, but I shove it down with pure willpower. Before I have much time to think about anything, I'm hit with another Cruciatus, as strong as the last. I fight through it, knowing that I'm not the only one I'd fail if I allowed myself to crack.

When the curse is finally finished, I am again too dazed to hear what they're saying. After a few moments, their voices start coming into focus. I hear the word "fun" and then silence. Soon after I can hear them properly, again, Carrow turns to me and says, "Hear that, Longbottom? Sounds like my brother and Miss Bulstrode are having quite a bit of fun with your friend, Weasley, doesn't it?"

I strain my ears, hoping that she's lying. I hear screaming, and feel sick once more.

"That's not Ginny," I say weakly, recognizing the faint voice, "that's Luna."

Then it all makes sense; I _do_ know why I'm here. I _do_ know what I did to piss them off, and I'm not going to apologize for it, either.

"This is all because of the incident at the Ministry, two years ago, isn't it?" I say; my voice has an edge of anger that I've never heard in it before. Somehow, I'm not surprised that it's there, either; I've never felt this angry, before, in my entire life.

"Very good, Longbottom," Snape says. "We got an order straight from the Ministry itself that we were to give you and your two friends our worst punishment the minute you got off the train. You and the Weasley girl are purebloods, so we decided to cut you some slack, but Lovegood…"

"Luna's mother was half-Muggle," I say quietly. A shiver of dread runs down my spine.

"Exactly," he says.

"Are you trying to make my vomit on you?" I say. "Because that's exactly what's going to happen if you continue to make me think of my friends hurting."

"If you cover me with sick, I will make sure you don't get out of this room alive," Snape growled quietly.

The look on his face, alone, would normally have had me trembling, but this time, I can't help but feel a rush of relief at his words. He doesn't already plan to kill me. I am going to get out of here. Immediately, I begin planning about what I have to do when I'm free. I _have_ to resurrect the D.A., there is no other option. If I don't, there won't be anyone to fight against this; St. Mungo's will have to expand the size of their closed ward. I can't allow that to happen.

Another flash of reflected light brings me out of my thoughts. The knowledge that they don't intend to kill me does nothing to alleviate my fear of the blade.

The knife cuts into my cheek, this time, and I have to fight against the urge to double over from the pain of it, knowing that could do nothing but make it worse.

"Have you had enough, Longbottom?" Carrow asks.

I'm tempted to say no. I'm tempted to say that I don't want to be treated any better than Luna. I'm tempted to tell them _anything_ to throw them off their game and make them angrier, so I won't be unjustly favoured. But I know that it won't help anybody if I get myself hurt and then am unable to help Luna, if she needs it. Instead, I take advantage of my sudden rush of reckless bravery and settle for growling, "I'd had enough the minute you pulled me into this bloody dungeon."

The odd rush of bravery doesn't go away, even through the Cruciatus that follows my retort.

"You _insolent_ little—" Carrow begins the moment the curse is removed.

"I should kill you right now," Snape snarls in my ear, cutting Carrow off and placing his wand against my throat.

"You won't," I answer. My voice is weak and trembling, and yet it sounds a lot more certain about that statement than I feel.

He senses my weakness and laughs humourlessly.

"Are you sure about that?" he says. "What exactly is stopping me from dealing the deadly blow, right this minute?"

"M-my blood," I say immediately, without even having to think about it. The tremble in my voice has increased to a full-on stutter, but I continue. "I c-can trace my family back m-more than thirty g-generations, without a single Muggle in the b-bunch. My ancestry is p-purer than even the Malfoys'; I don't have a single d-drop of Muggle blood in me. If I die, now, my heritage dies with me. I have no siblings, no c-cousins, and no other relatives who are c-capable of bearing children. You wouldn't like to be the one who destroys the result of more than a millennium of p-pureblooded reproduction, would you?"

Snape only growls wordlessly and pulls back his wand. I nearly smile in relief; I have a weapon, I can defend myself. They won't kill purebloods.

"I don't think he's learned his lesson, yet, Severus," Carrow says darkly, a twisted grin making its way onto her ugly face.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Alecto," he replies. "I don't think he's going to learn his lesson for a long time."

I take a deep breath and brace myself for the next Cruciatus.

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><p><strong>AN**

**I know it's not my best fic, ever, but it's definitely not my worst, either. That would have to be either _The Road to Victory_ or _We're Lost and We're Found_, neither of which you want to know anything about. In this one, Neville's OOC-ness is intentional, and I don't think it's _too_ drastic. It's a self-discovery thing, for him. It's supposed to be about how he went from the clumsy, terrified, so-not-a-Gryffindor boy he was in the first six books to the brave, selfless, very-much-a-Gryffindor man he was at the end of the seventh.**

**I did pull a few facts out of my ass, in this one in particular. Normally I do research and make educated guesses from what I find _before_ writing the story, but with this one I took a few liberties. Feel free to criticize me for any of the following details; however, anything I don't mention, here, was researched or thought through and therefore has logic behind it. The things that have no logic behind them are as follows:  
>1) I have no idea whether Luna's mother was half-Muggle or not, I just made it up. It is actually counter-intuitive, now that I think about it, because Luna's father is almost certainly not a pureblood, seeing as "Lovegood" is one of the few names that is not on the Black Family Tree. But it's kind of late to change it, now.<br>2) I actually wouldn't be surprised if Filch _did_ think Cruciatus was a fit punishment for children. Again, I just made it up.  
>3) I don't know why I decided to make Neville's ancestry to be traceable back more than thirty generations. I know it's a little extreme.<strong>

**There. Those things you can criticize me on, the rest of my facts are off-limits because they are _facts_ and they are correct (at least, I think they are...feel free to correct me, as long as the information you give me come straight from the books/Jo herself). But you can criticize their delivery of any and all of my facts all you want. In fact, I kind of want you to do so.**

**Yes, I know rag doll is two words, but I think it looks better as one word. I took an artistic liberty with the spelling of a single noun. Sue me.**

**Don't take that literally; I really don't want or need to be sued. This is a fanfic, nothing but the plot belongs to me (and even the plot is partially pulled from the books). It's all JKR's. Even if you _do_ decide to sue me, I have nothing to give you, to begin with.**

**DH2 is the best movie yet, and not just because they added *muffled and indistinguishable speaking* even though it wasn't in the book, as you will probably notice if I ever get around to posting this entire series, I'm a huge fan of *more muffled and indistinguishable speaking*.**

**Please review to tell me about any mistakes I may or may not have made that are not listed above! Also, review to tell me what you thought of the story! Flames are welcome, just know that they will be ignored/laughed at/ridiculed for the rest of the world to see.  
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